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To Sherlock Holmes she is always
the
woman. I have seldom heard him mention her underany other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was notthat he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that oneparticularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise, but admirably balanced mind. He was, Itake it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen: but as alover, he would have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softerpassions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer -excellent for drawing the veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained reasonerto admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was tointroduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Gritin a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not bemore disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And yet there was but onewoman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionablememory.I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away from each other. Myown complete happiness, and the home-centred interests which rise up around the manwho first finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all myattention; while Homes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul,remained in our lodging in Baker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating fromweek to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierceenergy of his own keen nature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime,and occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in following out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries, which had been abandoned as hopeless bythe offcial police. From timt to time I heard some vague account of his doings: of hissummons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singulartragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the mission which he hadaccomplished so delicately and successfully for the reigning family of Holland. Beyond thesesigns of his activity, however, which I merely shared with all the readers of the daily press, Iknew little of my former friend and companion.One night - it was on the 20th March, 1888 - I was returning from a journey to a patient(for I had now returned to civil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As Ipassed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated in my mind with mywooing, and with the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desireto see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers. Hisrooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I looked up, I saw his tall spare figure pass twice in adark silhouette against the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his headsunk upon his chest, and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who knew his every moodand habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. He was at work again. He had risenout of his drug-created dreams, and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell, and was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.His manner was not effusive. It seldom was: but he was glad, I think, to see me. Withhardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved me to an arm-chair, threw across hiscase of cigars, and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood beforethe fire, and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion."Wedlock suits you," he remarked. "I think, Watson that you have put on seven and ahalf pounds since I saw you.""Seven," I answered.
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